Be nice to your children. Cause one day they will be straightening your hair for you and you want to keep your ears. Trust me on that.

When The Damn Emos were little girls, pretty blonde things, looking at their mummy in awe and amazement, I would do their hair every morning.

Moo with her dead straight naturally highlighted hair, usually in two ponytails or plaits.

Too with her waist length ringlets in either a high pony, with cascading curls around her face or in a fishtail.

not my child. I did a waaaaaaay better job. Of course.

And damn did it get knotty.

As you can imagine, two little girls and a mummy who is rather particular about her hair thankyouverymuch, meant that mornings would be quite hectic to get out the door looking fabulous on time.

So I could be a little short tempered.

I could be a little, oh some fucking wimpy little blonde girls would say, rough.

And those fucking wimps would be all ‘ow!’ and I would be all ‘rubbish’ and attack their hair with the brush while watching the clock.

And I may have rapped them over the head a couple of times every single day with the hairbrush.

Fast forward to today. When the Damn Emos tower over me, one with purple and back curly shoulder length hair, the other with long black and green hair teased to make her look like an eighties hair band.

And me with the Marbug sports injury shoulder thingy.

Meaning I cannot do my own hair and I have to rely on the kindness of others.

Hmmm – my mother felt the wrath of 10 years of her doing my hair in Princess Leia buns recently.
She though she’d caught her first ever case of “head wildlife” (amazing she’s avoided them for so long given that she was a teacher for 40 years) from some rellies she was staying with and wanted moi to do the comb and conditioner thing for her.

Payback is a bitch….

….as I’m sure to hear my daughter tell me in years to come after me insisting her waist length hair is both knot AND nit free every day.

oooooh – when my arm was out of commission my girls TOTALLY emo’d me up. I was out of commission for almost 2 months (I hope yours is way shorter than that). I wear my hair short, so it was very grown out and straggly. They would spend hours brushing it over my eyes and spraying my cowlick up instead of taming it down. They took pics, of course, but the hubs had enough sense to delete them. Being dependent sucked way worse than any of the pain I suffered from my injury.

Although I do recall my own similarly rough and brutal MOTY sneering at the tears in the eyes as she scraped our hair back and curled it mercilessly in rags, and curlers. “Oh don’t be such a sook, you wait till you have babies, then you’ll know what suffering is about”

Which is precisely why she NEVER was invited to any of the birth rooms of her 4 daughters.

…Oh yeah, I got it now, THOSE Emos. Oh poor friend. You know they’re going snag a knot and hook it good, and pull, ever-so-slow-ly, until you can actually hear your hair tear and the sound of the blood spirting from the roots and the smell of satly red blood all over your head. Your hair will hurt, for weeks.

Yeah, my mum was rough on my hair, she said it was like plaiting rope. Luckily I learned from her and was totally gentle when I was doing my girls’ hair (they would tell you otherwise but I know I was so much more gentle. I KNOW IT).

Totally agree with Momisodes. We need photographic documentation of said hair torture. Have the Emos turned you into a troll doll? Did they give you a fauxhawk? Do you (heaven forbid) now have a Paula Abdul updo?

Oh God. You mean when the girls are telling their dad and I that we need to be NICE because they will be picking out our nursing homes… we should actually DO IT? Cause, honey, I’m not sure I can muster up that much fear… 😉